Sunday
by Renenet
Summary: Angel's first act for reclaiming his redemption. -- set after the SlightlyEvil!Angel arc in season two


TITLE: Sunday [1/1]  
AUTHOR: Samantha McCullah  
EMAIL: kali_neba@hotmail.com  
DISTRIBUTION: Sanctuary. Anyone else, please ask.  
SPOILERS: **Happy Anniversary**  
RATING/CONTENT: PG-13, Faith/Angel, language  
SUMMARY: Angel's first act for reclaiming his redemption.  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Joss's.  
  
She used to look forward to Sundays. Sunday was visitation day, and it was   
the one day she got to interact with someone who wasn't wearing prison gray.  
  
Then the one person she thought she could depend on had stopped coming, and   
she was alone again with the darkness beating at the back of her mind,   
tempting her to let go again.  
  
And she nearly had. Shirley in Cell 3 had pulled another homemade knife on   
her again in the weight room, and she had been very tempted to let go, to   
kill her, or at least beat her into submission. Instead Faith merely broke   
Shirley's wrist, twisting the knife out of her grip, and let the guards   
pummel them both in punishment.  
  
I'm becoming a pacifist, Faith laughed bitterly in her mind, resting her   
head back against the cool wall of her cell. She closed her eyes, trying to   
ignore the guards as they called prisoners out to take them to the   
visitation room, and desperately trying to ignore the faint hope glinting   
in her mind that she would be next.  
  
Imagine her surprise when her cell door actually opened.  
  
"Faith Wilkins," was all the guard said as she opened the door. She leapt   
of her bed, knowing that if she didn't hurry, another beating would be on   
the menu tonight. The guard's cold hand took hold of her elbow, practically   
pulling her down the concrete hallway, into the visitation room, and down   
the row of windowed desks to the second to last one where she was forced   
down into the cold metal chair.  
  
Faith finally glanced up at her visitor and blinked at him. Her eyes never   
left him as she picked up the black phone.  
  
"Angel," she said, as blandly as possible.  
  
"Faith." His voice was quiet, and she could hear the faint twang of regret   
that generally came with anything Angel said. "It's been awhile."  
  
"Most certainly has," she replied, eyes never leaving his face, but he   
looked away.  
  
"I-I'm sorry," he muttered, glancing back up at her.  
  
"What's wrong, Angel?" Faith asked, leaning forward, her elbows balancing   
on the desk. "You do something wrong and feel the need to confess? 'Cause   
I'm thinking a priest would be better suited." Angel's eyes widened slightly.  
  
"No," he said, blinking, "I'm sorry I haven't been here in a while."  
  
"Two months, three weeks, Angel." She simply stared at him, wanting him to   
know what she meant. "Do you realize how long that is? Eleven weeks." She   
chuckled, finally looking down at her hands. "Do you know how long that is?"  
  
"I know," he whispered.  
  
"No, no, you don't," Faith said, "You have thoughts of B to keep you   
company. You know what I got?" She looked up, catching his eyes. "Death.   
Nothing else."  
  
"You got a lot of things, Faith," he replied.  
  
"Oh, really? Like what? Redemption?" She laughed again. "Do you know how   
many times I came this close to saying 'Fuck Redemption'? Eight times,   
Angel. Eight fucking times. I actually held on for three weeks, hoping   
you'd show up, that maybe there was a case and you were busy, but that   
you'd show up eventually. You never did.  
  
"I nearly gave up, Angel."  
  
"I did," he said, softly. She blinked not sure she'd heard him right. "I   
gave up. There was a girl, always a girl, and she did things, things which   
made me....angry."  
  
"And this is the point where you say 'You wouldn't like me when I'm angry',   
right?" she replied.  
  
"It fits, I suppose. But she pushed me too far, I lashed out. I hurt   
people. Wesley, Cordelia....You. I never meant...I never wanted to hurt you."  
  
"And how many times have I heard that?"  
  
"Too many to count?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'm sorry. It doesn't help, but I am."  
  
"You're right. It doesn't help. You left me alone, Angel. Here, in this   
hellhole, surround by people who feel I would be better off dead. I had   
nothing, nothing, to counter that."  
  
"And the darkness is irresistible."  
  
"It really is. And persistent, and tempting, and demanding."  
  
"Faith, If I could change things--"  
  
"But you can't. And neither can I. I just....you need to know what you did."  
  
"I understand."  
  
"No, once again, you have no clue. Maybe you'll understand eventually, but   
you don't now. You're still hung up on that other girl. The one who hurt   
you. You won't understand until she goes away."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"You've said that already."  
  
"I'm going to make this up to you. I promise."  
  
"Tomorrow's Sunday, Angel. Where are you going to be? Fighting the little   
blonde girl in your dreams? Or out doing your job?  
  
"I'll be here."  
  
"Which here, Angel? You got some choices you gotta make."  
  
"I promise."  
  
"You promised before, Angel. You tend to break promises."  
  
"Please, Faith." But she was gone, the guard leading her back down the rows   
of windowed desks, back out of the visitation room, back down the concrete   
hallway. The cell door slammed shut with a clang, the sound echoing through   
the halls and empty cells.  
  
And simultaneously in a hotel in the middle of LA and in a women's prison   
on the outskirts of the metropolis, two people shudder awake from a dream,   
a metallic sound ringing in their half awake minds. Both pull themselves   
up, muscles tense, ready to fight. Then both, in unison relax.  
  
Tomorrow's Sunday.  
  
**FIN** 


End file.
